


Into the Inferno

by frantstic



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: (a little bit), (maybe), (probably), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dragons, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Kings & Queens, Mild Smut, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Prophecy, and they have to save the world, btw it's tv show game of thrones canon, everyone is a badass, medieval gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frantstic/pseuds/frantstic
Summary: NOTE: Knowing Game of Thrones canon is NOT necessary to understanding this fic! Everything related to Game of Thrones will be explained!The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros are at peace, and Percy of House Stark wishes to keep it that way. But when King Aegis Targaryen begins to hear voices in his head telling him of future betrayals, Percy must decide whether to maintain the fragile alliance between their two great houses, or save the kingdoms from decimation.But there is even more mystery brewing beneath the surface. Ominous visions and vague prophecies tell Percy of his underlying destiny, and how he and six others are responsible for preserving the Seven Kingdoms. Only one thing is clear. The fate of Westeros rests on the shoulders of the seven heroes, and if they don’t act in time, everything they have ever known will burn.





	1. The Warden of the North

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my new fic! PJO and HOO have always had the softest place in my heart but I haven't written any fanfics for them since my Wattpad days, and after a reread of the HOO series here I am! 
> 
> As previously stated, an understanding or knowledge of Game of Thrones is NOT necessary to comprehending this fic, everything Game of Thrones canon will be explained! However, if you do watch Game of Thrones and disagree with my (potentially controversial) house placements, I would love to provide evidence for my choices.
> 
> I'd like to give a big thank you to my beta Sydney for editing this chapter and the other chapters to come! Her tumblr is starlitdaydreams, go give her a follow she is amazing!
> 
> You can find me ontumblr and twitter if you'd like to follow me there and remember to leave a comment if you enjoy the first chapter! I live for feedback! 
> 
> Thank you for deciding to click this fic and please enjoy!

It seemed to Lord Stark that the closer the winter was to his doorstep, the worse his nightmares became. 

He would awake constantly in the middle of the night, bundled tightly in his furs, drenched in sweat, the dark visions still flashing before his eyes. The dreams, though, no matter how haunting they might have been, were not very difficult to interpret. 

They always began with two animals fighting in the middle of a blizzard: a direwolf and a lion. For every blow that the direwolf landed, the lion matched it, until the coats of the two noble animals were matted with blood. Before they could tear each other apart, the battleground was engulfed in flames and the dream shifted, visions flickering like a dancing fire: two armies with sigiless flags charging across a barren battlefield, the sea crashing against the cliffside, lightning striking the towers of King’s Landing, a woman draped in a red cloak with black smoke curling from the bottom of her dress. 

And finally, a young girl mounted on a golden scaled dragon, burning Winterfell to the ground. 

That last image was always the one to shock Percy of House Stark awake. 

It scared him especially today, the day the Royal House of Targaryen, whose sigil was a dragon, were going to arrive at his doorstep. It was supposed to be a diplomatic mission between the two great houses of Westeros, but Percy was nervous nonetheless. It would be the first time he had ever handled the Targaryens as the Lord of Winterfell instead of the Lord’s son. Relations between the houses had never been smoother, and it was up to him to make sure they stayed that way. The Starks had been the wardens in the North since the Targaryens first conquered Westeros. And if anyone had the power to disrupt that legacy, it was the king of the Seven Kingdoms. 

He glanced at the window. Dawn light was filtering through the curtains. Percy knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep, so he brushed his quilt aside and found his boots.

The snow settling on the floor of the courtyard crunched beneath his feet. The servants drifted about the yard, bowing politely when Percy passed. He approached the stables and nodded at the nearest stable boy, who rushed to saddle his horse. 

Percy glanced around the castle. He couldn’t tell if it was just him, or if the air was thick with anticipation. An anticipation as thick as smoke. 

The stable boy returned. Percy smiled.

Blackjack had been a gift to him from his father on his sixteenth birthday. Percy had loved to ride before that, but after he met Blackjack, it was hard to ever get him off the horse. There was just something about riding that eased all of Percy’s nerves, like everything about being Warden of the North was lifted from his shoulders when he rode. 

Percy jumped onto Blackjack and pressed his hand to the horse’s flank. “You ready, boy?”

Blackjack neighed and snorted indignantly. 

“Yes, I know it’s early, but we’re expecting guests.”

Percy spurred Blackjack along and led him out of the confines of the castle. 

He found himself in the Wolfswood just as the sun was rising. Percy slowed his horse to a trot. After last night’s snow, the wood smelled fresh, like pine needles and river beds. Percy closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was someone else: a wildling with no responsibility or kingdom to run. He could almost believe it.

The feeling didn’t last. 

The temperature dropped. The birds had stopped chirping. And it definitely wasn’t Percy’s imagination anymore, he smelled smoke. Blackjack bucked and whinnied nervously. 

_Seven._

The voice seemed to come from every direction. Percy searched the woods frantically, his eyes landing on nothing. 

_Unite the seven._

It sounded like a snake, if a snake could talk. There was something feminine about the voice, but not quite human. Percy turned one last time, and came face to face with the red cloaked woman from his dreams. 

She couldn’t have been any older than he was. The hood of her cloak tamed a wild mess of red curls, and her pale skin was dotted with freckles. But it was her eyes that drew all attention. They were pitch black. 

_Save the kingdoms. Follow his light. Unite the seven._

“Who are you?” Percy called. He drew his sword, but as soon as he pointed the tip at the woman, the smoke from beneath her cloak grew thicker and darker. Blackjack bucked again, almost throwing him. Percy couldn’t breathe. The smoke was closing in. His mouth was coated with ash, his eyes were stinging with embers. 

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the smoke was gone. Percy was left in a fit of coughing, his throat dry as dust. Blackjack was wheezing. The snow on the ground where the woman had been standing was now a pile of ash. 

When Percy regained his breath, he glanced around one more time, but the woman was gone. The birds were singing again. A rabbit darted towards the ash on the ground, sniffed it curiously, and then dashed away. A gust of wind blew through the tops of the trees, sending the snow resting on the branches to the ground. The forest was peaceful again, and the ash was the only evidence that Percy hadn’t been dreaming. 

Percy heard the bells at Winterfell tolling. He had been away longer than he thought. The Targaryens had arrived.

And he was covered in ash and definitely in no shape to meet the king. 

“Oh, gods why me?” he muttered, before urging Blackjack into a gallop and shooting back to Winterfell. 

The gods must have taken pity on him because he arrived just in time to run to his chambers, dust the soot from his hair, and throw on a new cloak. He was about to leave when there was a knock at his door and a curly haired head appeared. 

“My Lord, are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Grover,” he muttered. 

Percy glanced in the mirror. He brushed more soot off of his under armor and tightened his sword sheath. He tried not to look as desperately afraid as he still felt from his encounter in the forest. 

“Are you done?” Grover teased. 

Percy shoved him playfully. “Yes. Let’s go.”

They marched across the stronghold to the East Gate where the Targaryen carriage, drawn by snowy white horses, was already entering. Percy fell into place next to his mother. 

“Where have you been?” she scolded. “And why do you smell like fire?”

“Later, mother,” Percy whispered. He fiddled nervously with the hilt of his sword and watched as the gate closed behind the carriage. 

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard led the small procession. He sat on top of a different colored horse, light brown with a white mottled nose. The Lord Commander had dark hair that fell to his shoulders and tan skin like a Southerner. His piercing eyes were almond shaped and so dark they might have been black. As the two of them locked eyes, Percy realized that he wasn’t a he at all. She was a woman. 

Before Percy could further contemplate how a woman had been able to land such a position, the doors to the King’s carriage flew open. Percy knelt and stared at the snowy ground, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

“Please rise, my Lord,” the King said. Percy did, and he met the eyes of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Aegis Targaryen was an unimpressive sight. His silvery hair fell in long waves to his collarbone. His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and his eyes were a strange shade of gray-blue. He was slender and tall, but it wasn’t an imposing sort of height. He reminded Percy of a foal with knobbly joints and an unbalanced center. He was dressed regally, but the clothing hung limply off his body and the sword at his belt was not situated at the right angle for a quick draw, leading Percy to believe that it did not spend a lot of time out of its sheath. 

“It’s a pleasure to welcome you to Winterfell, your Grace,” Percy replied. “I do hope your journey was a safe one?”

“Indeed it was, although I must say, quite frigid.” 

“It is the North, your Grace.” 

They stared at each other in silence. Grover interrupted with a loud cough. 

“Oh, right.” Percy turned to Grover. “This is Grover of House Tarly, my ward.”

“A pleasure, my Lord,” Aegis said. “And this is my hand and my sister, Lady Annabeth.”

Percy had to bite his tongue to keep from gasping. It was the girl from his dreams, the one who burned Winterfell to a crisp from the top of the golden dragon, Percy was sure of it. That meant two figures from his dreams had stood in front of him in a single day. Percy had no idea what it could have meant. 

Annabeth didn’t look anything like her brother, and by extension, anything like any of the Targaryens. While Aegis was pale and lackluster, she was vibrant and lively. Her hair was gold instead of silver, and her eyes were storm gray instead of the color of snowy runoff. She was also much more intimidating, and she wore her gown like she had chosen it because of how easy it was to hide a weapon under the folds of the fabric. 

“Percy,” Grover hissed in his ear. Percy realized he had been staring. 

“It’s uh, nice to meet you, my Lady.”

“And you as well, my Lord.”

“Lord Tarly, if you could please show the King up to his chambers and then, after you’ve settled, we can all meet for breakfast in the Main Hall,” Percy said, gesturing towards the guest chambers.

“Sounds lovely,” the king replied. Grover shot Percy a look of silent encouragement before leading Aegis and Annabeth through the courtyard. 

Percy turned back to the Lord, er Lady, Commander of the Kingsguard, who was still sitting on her horse, watching the King carefully as if she was worried one of the servants in the courtyard would jump him. 

“Do you want me to have a stableboy take your horse, my Lady?” Percy asked her. She glanced at him. Her black eyes were like daggers, piercing Percy’s skin and seeing right into his soul. 

“I’ll take him myself, thanks,” she told him cooly. She jumped from her horse’s back and grabbed his reins in her fist.

“At least let me show you the way. Winterfell can be difficult to navigate.”

Her lip curled every so slightly and her fingers tightened around her horse’s reins. “Very well.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Percy began cautiously. He felt like if he made one wrong move around this woman, the sword at her hip would immediately be in her hand and through Percy’s stomach. “You weren’t here the last time the Royal Family visited Winterfell.” 

“No, I was not. But I know who you are anyway.”

“Well I apologize, but I don’t know who you are.”

She sighed. “My name is Reyna Martell. And this is Scipio.” The horse nickered and nudged Percy with his nose.

“He seems to like me at least.” Percy grinned and patted the horse’s cheek.

Reyna frowned. “He’s not normally so friendly.”

“I have a way with horses.” Percy smiled at her. Reyna didn’t reciprocate. “If you don’t mind me asking, Lady Reyna, how did you end up in this position?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. “I was the most qualified.”

“Of course,” Percy said hastily. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I was also fortunate enough to befriend Lady Annabeth,” Reyna admitted. “She convinced her brother to give me a chance in the position.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re more than capable.” There was something that had been nagging at the back of Percy’s mind ever since finding out that Aegis had a sister. He figured his best opportunity to find an answer was with Reyna. “So Lady Annabeth… is she, uh, betrothed to the King?”

Reyna did the unimaginable and let out a laugh. “No, not Lady Annabeth. As you might have been able to gather from her appearance, she was not conceived in normal Targaryen fashion. Her father married a woman of a different bloodline to himself after the King’s mother died. Annabeth… well she wishes to do the same.”

“Right, okay.” Percy cleared his throat. “I was just curious.”

“I can entertain the possibility that you asked for multiple reasons.”

Percy felt his face heat up. “Anyway, we’re at the stables. Scipio can stay in this stall next to Blackjack.”

Reyna opened the stall and unsaddled Scipio, handing his equipment to a nearby stable boy. “Thank you for walking me, Lord Stark. I appreciate your hospitality.”

“Please let me know if there is anything we can do to make you, Lady Annabeth, or the king more comfortable,” Percy told her. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I’m certain that I will.” Reyna shook Percy’s hand. “I should attend to the king.”

“Do you want me to show you to his chambers as well?”

Reyna wrinkled her nose. “I’ll find it myself, thanks.”

She turned on her heel, starting in the direction of the guest chambers. Percy watched her go.

“Well if any woman were to be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, she certainly seems to be the most fit for the job,” Percy told the two horses. They whinnied in agreement. 

Minutes later, Percy found himself at the head of the main hall’s table, trying to eat the food in front of him. Every bite dissolved to sawdust in his mouth. The king, on the other hand, was shoveling eggs into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in all his life. Percy had heard rumors that he was a Dragon, a rare trait passed through the Targaryen gene pool that allowed those with the bloodline to harness and ride dragons, as well as be resistant to fire. Maybe Aegis was fed nothing but raw meat like a dragon, too. 

Grover and Percy shared a look as Aegis started to attack the sausage. Everyone else at the table was silent. Annabeth was pushing her food around with her fork. Reyna was staring at her food, her hands in her lap. It wasn’t until Aegis’s plate was cleared that the conversation began. 

“Lord Stark,” he announced. “I must admit, I did not come to visit simply for diplomatic reasons.”

Percy fiddled with the end of his cloak. “Oh? What other motivations did you have for visiting, then, your Grace?”

“I wish to gain your support.”

“You have it.”

“Your army’s support.”

Percy blinked. “My army? Why?”

Aegis wiped at his face with his napkin. “I wish to declare war.”

Annabeth dropped her fork, her face paling. “War? What do you mean, your Grace?” she demanded. Percy glanced nervously at Grover. It was a bad sign that Aegis’s own hand didn’t know of his plans.

“I mean that I have been hearing whispers. Lord Baratheon plans to overthrow me,” Aegis declared. 

“Lord Baratheon? He is one of our most loyal vassals,” Annabeth insisted. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, he would.” The king leaned back in his chair. “I have heard of it.”

“Heard of it from where, your Grace?” Percy asked carefully. 

Aegis leaned forward, his eyes wide and desperate. “The whispers in my ear. She has come to me and has told me of the future. She promises me the Baratheons will betray the Targaryens and claim King’s Landing for themselves.”

Annabeth bit her lip. She had grown even paler. “Your Grace, I don’t think that the Baratheons would do such a thing… they--” 

“They will!” Aegis slammed his fist on the table. Grover jumped. “The Red Woman tells me of it!”

“This Red Woman…” Percy began. A cold weight was settling on his chest. “Was she wearing a red cloak? And were her eyes completely black?”

“Yes!” Aegis pointed triumphantly at Percy. “You have heard her too!”

“Uh.” Percy looked to Annabeth and Reyna, hoping they wouldn’t think he was as crazy as Aegis. “Yes, I have. But she didn’t say anything about the Baratheons,” he added quickly.

“What did she say?” Annabeth asked. Her gray eyes were trained on him, and Percy felt like she was calculating his every move as if searching for a chink in his armour. 

“She said something about saving the kingdoms and uniting the seven.”

“The seven kingdoms?” Reyna asked. 

“Possibly. But she said it in separate phrases. ‘Save the kingdoms. Unite the Seven.’ Maybe the seven refers to something else.” Percy looked up. Grover, Annabeth, and Reyna were all staring at him. Aegis was shaking his head. 

“I have to know, Lord Stark, whether I have your army for my war,” Aegis said. “I don’t care about the other nonsense the Red Woman has said to you.”

“Your Grace, I really think we need to privately discuss whether war is the best option before we ask Lord Stark for his troops,” Annabeth said, keeping her voice calm and level.

“But--”

“Brother, please.” Annabeth set a hand on the king’s arm. “I am your hand. You must trust me.” 

Aegis furrowed his brow and relaxed in his seat. “Very well. I suppose a discussion of strategy should be in order before we decide whether we require Lord Stark’s troops.”

Annabeth and Reyna shared a concerned look. 

“I’ll take you to your chambers, your Grace,” Reyna said, standing. “We can further discuss in there.”

“Yes, yes.” Aegis nodded. “That sounds optimal.”

Percy leaned over to where Grover was sitting and whispered quietly in his ear. “Prepare a raven to Storm’s End.”

“To Lord Baratheon?”

“No, to his son. We have to handle these matters carefully, and I trust Frank Baratheon to be a lot less rash than his father. But, Grover, bring the scroll into my chamber later. I... I need to be the one to write the letter.” 

Grover nodded and left the room on Aegis’s and Reyna’s heels. Annabeth was still sitting in her seat. 

“I’ve seen her too.” 

Percy’s eyes flew to her. “The Red Woman?”

“Yes.” Annabeth laced her fingers together. “And she didn’t say anything about the Baratheons to me, either.” 

“What did she say?”

“The same things she said to you. And something about ‘following his light.’ Whatever that might mean.”

“She said that to me as well. Do you understand any of it?” Percy asked her. Annabeth seemed pretty smart, much smarter than he was, anyway. Maybe she could figure something out. 

“I think you’re right about the seven not referring to the kingdoms. Maybe… maybe she’s talking about people. Unite seven people.”

“And we’re two of them?”

Annabeth glanced out the window. It had started to snow. “Perhaps. Where did she visit you?”

“In the Wolfswood. It’s just outside the gates.”

“Let’s go back there. Tonight. Maybe she’ll come to the both of us and clear things up.”

“Good idea.”

Annabeth sighed. “For now, however, I need to go speak to my brother and try to talk some sense into him. He… gets like this sometimes. But I’ll be able to calm him down.”

“Of course,” Percy said. “I’ll meet you back here at sundown.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.”

“Percy.”

Annabeth smiled. She didn’t look as terrifying when she smiled. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Percy watched as she left, her plaited hair swinging behind her like a pendulum. Annabeth was certainly nothing like any Targaryen Percy had ever known.


	2. Family, Duty, Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thanks to my beta Sydney for editing!
> 
> Be sure to let me know if you liked this chapter in the comments!
> 
> tumblr / twitter

Hazel Tully remembered everything about her death. 

She remembered going out for a ride with her brother along the Red Fork of the river to clear her head. Her favorite horse had needed his shoes changed, so Hazel had to take the other royal horse. The other royal horse was a skittish thing that had been scarred by her father riding it into border skirmishes every so often. If Hazel has been riding _her_ horse, he never would’ve bucked when a rabbit skirted out of the bushes and into his path. 

And Hazel considered herself a good rider. She could’ve held onto the reins, calmed the horse, and readjusted herself had she not been arguing with her brother. She would not have been arguing with her brother and would not have left Riverrun to clear her head in the first place if the raven from Storm’s End hadn’t arrived that morning announcing a proposed betrothal. 

Nico had been saying something about how a war crazed Baratheon was certainly no fit for his sister when the rabbit dashed out of the bushes, and Hazel, distracted by her brother’s words, had let her grip loosen on the reins. Her body had slipped from the horse’s back and her head thumped against a sharp rock that happened to be laying by the riverbed. 

And then, silence. No afterlife. No seven heavens or hells. No gods. Just a crushing silence and a black that Hazel thought would never end.

Until it did. 

When Hazel opened her eyes, a pair of smiling green ones stared straight back at her. 

“Oh good,” the girl said. “I didn’t even need a fire this time.”

“Hazel!” Nico was at her side instantly, wrapping her tightly in his arms. Hazel probably hadn’t been hugged by her brother since she was a child. 

She gasped, trying to bring as much air back into her lungs as she could. She… she had died. She stared at her hands, scraped and bruised from her fall. Her fingers found the back of her head and the lump that was forming. 

“Oh gods,” she muttered. 

“Not _gods_ ,” the girl said cheerfully. “There’s only one god you have to thank, my Lady.”

Hazel finally got a good look at the girl. She was young and beautiful. Her hair was thick and curly like Hazel’s own, but it was a fiery red that brought out the green in her eyes and the freckles on her nose. She was clothed simply in a dark dress and blood red cloak, carrying only a small satchel, and she spoke with an accent that wasn’t Westerosi. 

Nico’s expression was plastered with disbelief, which wasn’t an emotion Hazel often saw on his face. Nico usually accepted things as they were, but raising the dead must have been too much for him to accept. There was something else in his eyes too, a certain undefinable terror. 

“My Lady,” he told the girl, grabbing Hazel’s hand in his as if he were worried she would run off. “Thank you. The House Tully is forever in your debt. I… I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.”

The girl winced. “Oh, actually my Lord, I’d prefer you not spread the news. I’m not supposed to run around resurrecting people, you see. The Lord will not be pleased. It’s just, I felt so bad for your sister and I was passing through. I couldn’t leave her here, like this.”

“Well, at the very least, come back to Riverrun,” Hazel told her. “It’s not far from here, and we can give you a meal and a place to stay.”

The girl smiled. “I never turn down a good meal. And fish happens to be my favorite.” 

“No,” Nico blurted. Hazel glared at him. “I just… don’t know if Father will approve.”

“Father doesn’t have to know.”

“But…”

“Brother please. She saved my life.” Hazel could feel the anger rising inside of her. How dare he be so rude?

Nico sighed. “Fine. Okay. Whatever you’d like.” 

He stood and offered a hand to Hazel. Hazel’s legs felt boneless beneath her, and she had to put a hand on Nico’s shoulder to keep her balance. 

“I don’t know your name,” Hazel said to the girl. 

“Oh, you can call me Rachel.”

“I’m Hazel of…”

“Yes, Hazel of House Tully. And your brother, Nico.” Rachel smiled. “I know who you are.”

Nico and Hazel exchanged a look. Nico had paled and his eyebrows had drawn together. He looked as if he were scared of the girl, even though he had just seen her bring his sister back to life. 

But Hazel had to admit, even that was slightly terrifying. 

Rachel wandered on ahead of Nico and Hazel while they led their horses. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. 

Eventually, the towers of Riverrun appeared in the distance. One of the guards at the drawbridge greeted the three of them.

“Lady Hazel, Lord Tully. How was your ride?”

“It was… good.” Hazel felt at the knob in the back of her head.

“Who’s this?” the guard turned his gaze to Rachel. 

“She’s a friend,” Hazel explained quickly. “She needs a place to stay, and I was certain my father would allow her to remain here for awhile.”

Rachel gave the guard a large smile. 

“Very well,” he muttered. He raised an arm and the drawbridge lowered.

Hazel led her brother and Rachel into the compound, trying to usher Rachel to the guest tower as quickly as she could. She stood out like a swan in a flock of crows at Riverrun, with her fire colored hair and light skin, and Hazel didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.

“I’m going to talk to Father,” Nico announced as they arrived at the tower. “Thank you again, Lady Rachel, for all you’ve done.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Nico cast one last look at Hazel before turning on his heel, his cloak fluttering behind him. Rachel leaned in toward Hazel as if she was going to tell her a secret.

“He’s a bit moody, is he not?”

“He just has a lot on his mind,” Hazel replied hastily, closing the door behind them. She was used to making excuses for her brother’s behavior. Ever since he had passed fifteen, Nico had turned into a different person. Sullen and quiet all the time. 

“Oh, I’m sure. It can’t be easy, being the heir to a castle like this.” 

Suddenly, everything Hazel had been ignoring came flooding back to her. She collapsed into a chair. Her head was throbbing. 

“Are you alright, my Lady?” Rachel asked. 

“I’m fine. There’s just a lot on my mind as well.”

“Well of course,” Rachel said. “You do have quite the destiny in front of you.”

Hazel looked towards her, alarmed. “What?”

“Oh.” Rachel frowned. “I suppose you wouldn’t know that yet.”

“Know what, Rachel?”

“It’s really not something you need to trouble yourself with, my Lady,” Rachel told her, crouching on the floor next to Hazel. “All will become clear. I have seen it.”

In the pale light seeping through the curtains, Rachel’s eyes seemed to glow. “Seen it where?” Hazel felt inclined to whisper. 

“In the fire, my Lady.” 

Rachel’s gaze was mesmerizing. Hazel had to force herself to look away. “I… I don’t understand.”

“You will, my Lady. In due time, you will.”

Hazel was beginning to feel disturbed. She stood and rubbed at her arms. It felt like the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. “I should join my brother and father. We have some matters to discuss. Forgive me.”

“Not a problem. I’ll just get situated.”

Hazel smiled politely and quickly left the room, her heart still beating frantically.

Talking to her father and brother had just been an excuse to leave, but she figured she might as well do it anyway. She was worried Nico would say something about the betrothal, something that her father wouldn’t like. Her feet moved even faster.

She arrived at the Great Hall out of breath and pushed open the doors without bothering to knock.

“Hazel,” the Lord of Riverrun said warmly. “How was your ride?”

She really hoped people would stop asking that. It only made the throbbing in her head more insistent. “It was good. Father, I wanted to discuss the raven we received from Lord Baratheon.”

“Excellent, that happened to be just what your brother and I were discussing.”  
Nico turned and shot Hazel a glare. Hazel glared right back. It was her life, she deserved the opportunity to make her own choice. 

“Father, as I’ve said, I really don’t think it’s the wisest idea to cooperate with the Baratheons,” Nico began. “We can’t forget what they did to us during the Dance of the Dragons.”

“That was almost fifty years ago, Nico,” Hazel told him. “This is obviously Lord Baratheon trying to make amends. Besides, I’d like to meet his son again before I make a decision.”

“You can’t possibly think this is a good idea, Hazel!” Nico said, his voice raising.

“Well you can’t possibly think you can control my life!” 

“Children, please.” Hazel’s father raised his hand. He was often good natured and kind, but he could be harsh when he had to be. With his grand stature and thick beard and eyebrows, he looked very imposing and powerful. “I will discuss with my advisors. But Hazel, my dear, you are correct. It is your life, and ultimately the decision will fall in your hands. And Nico, when it is time for you to marry, you will be able to decide for yourself too.”

Blood crept to Nico’s cheeks. Hazel frowned. Was he angry their father had taken her side?

“Very well,” Nico growled. He turned dramatically once again, storming out of the Great Hall.

Hazel lingered. She wasn’t sure whether it was wise to tell her father about Rachel and what she had said about the fire… and Hazel’s destiny. If anyone would know what to do, it would be her father. But something kept the words deep in her throat. 

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“Yes, Father. Just… contemplating.”

Her father nodded knowingly and stroked his beard. “I trust you to make a wise decision, my daughter. And you’ve met Frank Baratheon at Lord Stark’s tournament. You know he’s not too bad.” 

“Right. Not too bad.” Hazel gave her father a half smile, pushing the harrowing memories of her last meeting with Frank Baratheon to the back of her mind. “I should go.  
But thank you for your counsel.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Hazel was determined to catch up to her brother and slap him until he let her make her own decisions, but he must have run away from the throne room as quickly as he could, because as Hazel stalked across the castle wall, she couldn’t find him. A cold gust of wind, stronger than usual, blew through Hazel’s cloak. She had to hold onto the edge of the wall to keep from falling over.

She turned her gaze to the North, rubbing her arms covered only by the thin material of her dress. The Starks had warned their Southern allies that winter was coming. She feared they were correct.

Hazel didn’t wish to spend any more time helplessly standing in the cold, so she started for Nico’s chambers. She didn’t have a plan for what she was going to say when she got there, but it turned out she didn’t need one. As she approached, she could hear voices through the thin wood of the door, muffled, but loud and angry. 

Hazel very carefully grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open just enough for her to peek in. Her brother had his back to her and his hand on his sword. In front of him, sitting on his bed and staring through the curtains of the window, was Rachel.

“...sorry Nico,” she was saying. “It’s just, your room has the best view of the river.”

“Leave me alone,” he grumbled. “I’m grateful for what you did for my sister but I know your kind. And I know the dangers that follow you.” 

Hazel’s heart dropped. _Dangers_? Did her brother know something about Rachel that Hazel didn't? Why wouldn’t he say anything to her?

“That’s not very polite, Nico,” Rachel replied.

“It’s Lord Tully,” he snapped. 

“But why?” Rachel stood and approached Nico. She was barely taller but seemed to tower over him. “We are one and the same, aren’t we? Both servants to our gods.”

Hazel could feel the dread rising in her throat. Her brother, a servant to a _god_? What could that mean?

Nico seemed as alarmed as Hazel was. “How do you know about that?”

“The Lord of Light knows all. And he tells me.” Rachel touched the tips of her fingers to Nico’s cheek. He flinched away like she had burned him. “I know everything about you, Nico Tully. All of your… darkest secrets.”

“He warned me about you. He said the Red Witch was coming. I never should’ve brought you here.”

“I would’ve showed up here anyway.” Rachel waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Your sister has a great destiny in front of her and I am here to guide her.” 

Hazel leaned closer to the door. More about her great destiny again. But if her brother was right and Rachel was dangerous, did Hazel really want a Red Witch guiding her?

“She doesn’t need your guidance,” Nico spat. “And she has no great destiny. She’s just a normal girl.”

“I wouldn’t have wasted my magic and effort on bringing a normal girl back to life,” Rachel told him. “I didn’t resurrect your sister out of the goodness of my heart. I did it because the Lord of Light needs her.” 

“You keep your god away from my sister,” Nico commanded. “If he knows I’m working with you he’ll… he’ll kill me.”  
Rachel put a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Serving our gods is difficult. But the tasks they give us are necessary.”

“I didn’t want to serve him!” Nico insisted. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No one ever asks for anything, Nico.” Rachel glanced towards her feet. The mysterious edge disappeared from her tone. “Look, I’m sorry he chose you, I really am. It’s not an easy burden to bear, but I know, in the end, both of our tasks must be fulfilled.”

“I know it too.”

Nico and Rachel exchanged a heavy glance. “Goodbye, Nico. And remember. The night is dark and full of terrors.”

Hazel quickly darted out of the way, pretending to just be approaching her brother’s door as Rachel walked out of it.

“Hazel, hello,” she said, smiling. 

Hazel, after all she had heard, found it difficult to smile back. “Hello.”

“I wouldn’t recommend visiting your brother at this time, he seems to be in a bit of a mood.”

“Okay,” she murmured. Rachel brushed past her, seemingly unaffected by the cold wind. 

Her mind was racing. Who was the Lord of Light? Who had chosen Nico? The door to his chamber was still open just a crack, and Hazel contemplated pushing it forward and confronting her brother, demanding answers. But something kept her hand at her side. 

She could hear the thump of footsteps inside, and her brother swung open the door, scowling. 

“What do you want?” he asked her. 

“You don’t have to be so rude,” Hazel responded. “I’m just worried about you.”

Nico’s brows knit together. “Well you don’t have to be.” 

He shot her a furtive glance, his eyes full of a desperate fear. Hazel could feel her heart cracking in her chest. Before she could say anything, Nico slammed the door closed in her face.

Hazel stared emptily at the gnarled wood. Before she could return to her own chambers and take a very long nap, the raven master ran up to her, clutching a small scroll in his hand.

“A raven for you, Lady Hazel.”

Hazel took the scroll numbly. The wax seal was emblazoned with a stag, the sigil of the Baratheons. “For me? Not for my father?”  
“Yes, my Lady.”

Hazel broke the seal and unfurled the letter. It was written in a neat and boxy script that only took up half of the small page. 

_Lady Hazel,_  
Lord Stark tells me that we are in danger. He warns of a war and something else, something that reminds me of the last time we were together. You must ride for Winterfell, alone. Percy waits for us there.  
Lord Frank Baratheon 

Hazel crumpled the letter in her hand. She felt like crying. It was all too much.

Instead she blinked away the tears, tucked the crumpled letter into her sleeve, and headed for her chambers.


	3. The Salt King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's Day everyone! I'm in the midst of reading the Burning Maze right now and I've gotta say it's making the next chapter a little awkward to write... 
> 
> Anyway, thanks as always to Sydney for betaing, and be sure to leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoy! 
> 
> (TW for faked suicide)

Leo Greyjoy was drowning. 

Everything was water: salty, harsh, ice cold water, filling his ears, his nose, his mouth and lungs. He was at the mercy of the sea, only the hand on his neck keeping him from escaping. 

He could hear a faint murmur of words spoken above him, the cries of shouting men, everything muffled like his ears were full of wax. 

The edges of his vision were swimming with black. He could feel his fingers and toes start to freeze like ice. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t fight or hold on.

Just as he was about to let go, his head was thrown back and his face touched the air again. He gasped and pulled his eyes open, gulping huge breaths into his lungs as his people chanted around him. 

“WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!” 

Leo stumbled to shore, digging his fingers in the sand and retching salty water onto the ground. His men fell silent, as if they were worried Leo would die and they would have to nominate a new king. Leo was not going to let that happen.

He forced himself to his feet and thrust a fist into the air. “What is dead may never die!” 

He collapsed into a fit of coughing, but fortunately the cheering was too loud for anyone to hear. Despite the fact that he was huddled on the ground, salt water still stinging his nose, Leo had never felt more alive. He was King of the Iron Islands. He had done it. 

As the men lifted him onto their shoulders and carried him across the beach, their shouts and cries filling the air, Leo spotted his sister Amyra at the edge of the crowd, her arms crossed in front of her, her eyebrows knit closely together. She was one of the only girls on the Iron Islands that the men wouldn’t dare touch. Leo thought it had something to do with the way she kept her black hair cropped close to her head, preferred to wear trousers than skirts, and kept a curved knife the size of Leo’s forearm in full view on her belt. And now she was scowling at her brother like she was planning to use that knife on him. 

Leo pushed his sister from his mind, trying not to let her rain on his parade as the final pieces of his plan clicked into place. He had had the plan since his return from his raid on the Fingers, the raid that had solidified him as the next Salt King. But now, with his power, it could be done. 

It _would_ be done. 

“It can’t be done.”

Leo’s chief advisor Karron stood in front of Leo’s new throne, his hands fiddling with the straps of his armour.

“What do you mean, it can’t be done?”

“We can’t go through with the raid, my King. Aegis Targaryen has been ruthlessly defending the mainland ever since the raid on the Fingers. When we sail past Dorne, he’ll send a fleet to ravage our own.” Karron winced even before Leo had time to reply. 

“So we build a fleet bigger than the Dornish.”

“Again, your Grace, we can’t. We don’t have the lumber. Or the gold.”

Leo could feel his dreams sinking into the sea. “Very well, you’re dismissed. I’ll think about this myself.”

Leo stared into the empty fireplace as Karron bowed and scurried away, his footsteps echoing in the stone room. The pale gray light seeping through the windows was shining on the kraken, the sigil of House Greyjoy, etched above the fireplace. Its giant eyes seemed to stare imposingly at Leo, as if daring him to go against Karron’s advice and launch the fleet. Leo wondered if the statue was the reason so many bad decisions had been made in the history of the Greyjoy house. Leo looked away. He refused to let the weight of his ancestors’ decisions affect him. If he wanted to make his mark, he would have to diverge from the Greyjoy way. He had expected as much, even before Karron had reminded him of Aegis’s grudge.

Without anymore hesitation, Leo jumped from his seat and approached the map lying on the table, a dagger stabbed on two of the corners to keep it from flying away in the drafty throne room. The small rock statues of the Iron Fleet were bundled together on the Iron Islands, just off of the neck of the continent, in the middle of Ironman’s Bay. There was no way to cross Westeros by water. The Tumblestone mountains stood in between Ironman’s Bay and Riverrun. Which meant that in order to cross the Neck, Leo would have to do so by land. He took one the statues of the boats and fondled it in his hand. The Greyjoys were pirates, it was how things had always been.  
He turned and looked once again into the eyes of the kraken. He hurled the stone boat into the fireplace. 

Once Leo had crossed the land, however, he would need to find a boat in order to cross the Narrow Sea and reach the corner of the Eastern continent Essos, where the great city of Braavos stood. The best place to do so would be King’s Landing. The port was bustling every hour of the day, and it would be simple to steal away on a trading boat to Braavos. He would just have to avoid the Kingsguard, but if he didn’t wear Greyjoy armor, he would be indistinguishable from any peasant searching for a better life in Essos.

He knew there would be backlash. He was going against everything that the Iron Islanders stood for, after all. But he had to do this. It was his destiny. And he normally didn’t believe in that sort of thing, but the pull to the city was too strong and he had no other explanation for it other than the fact that the Drowned God was commanding him to pull off the greatest raid in the history of the Iron Islands, in the history of Westeros, even. 

To raid the Iron Bank of Braavos, what was once the most secure place in the entire world. 

“What are you planning?”

Leo jumped and let out a squeal of surprise. His sister stood in the threshold of the doorway, twirling her the hilt of her knife between her fingers. Leo knew that if she wanted to, she could throw that thing from across the room and hit him directly in the heart. She had gotten the weaponry talents from their father. And the bravery. And the violent streak.

As for Leo, well, Leo had gotten the brains. At least, he liked to think so.

“Amyra, I’m glad you’re here,” he said, forcing a smile. “I wanted to run what I have by you. It’s a bit out there but…”

“Save it, Leo.” Amyra, in one swift move, sheathed her knife. “We both know full well why I’m here.”

Leo gulped, tapping his fingers on the table in a rapid, unsteady rhythm. “I, um, don’t know why actually do you mind clearing it up?”

Amyra rolled her eyes and started slowly towards Leo, one agonizing step at a time. Her boots thunked loudly against the stone floor. “Listen, Leo. We both know who should be sitting on that throne. And I’m not going to pretend like everything is fine and normal when it’s not.”

“Amyra, I’m sorry. You know I am. But I thought we decided that--”

“We?” Amyra let out a cold laugh. “There was no we in that decision, Leo. It was all you and that sniveling coward Karron.”

“You know that the men wouldn’t have accepted…”

“They would have!” Amyra roared. Her dark brown eyes were wide and furious, her fists clenched at her sides so tightly her knuckles were turning white. “They would have if you had let them know who really led the raid on the Fingers.”

Leo’s heart skipped a beat. “Amyra, I’ve already apologized I don’t know what else…” 

“You let me be king. That’s what else.” 

Leo stared at his feet. “Amyra…”

“You better find a way to get me on that throne.” Amyra unsheathed her knife once more, pointing it at the spot between Leo’s eyes. “Or I will.”

Amyra sent one last glare in Leo’s direction, a glare almost as sharp as her knife, before turning and leaving the room. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the hall like a clap of thunder. 

Leo stared back down at the map. If he left now, his sister would claim the throne while he was gone. It would be easy to start a coup, especially after Leo revealed his controversial plan. The men respected Amyra. Even though she was a woman, maybe she could do it…

Leo slammed a fist on the table. He would have to abandon his plan. It was too dangerous, and he couldn’t risk the throne. 

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the feeling washed over him again. The drafty air turned warm. The salty smell of the sea was replaced with something more comforting, like a spiced pie. Leo’s vision tunnelled until all he could see was the dot on the map marked Braavos. He had to go there. He had to. 

Leo shook his head to snap out of the daze. The warmth disappeared. The salty air stung his nose once more.

Abandoning the plan wasn’t an option either. Leo didn’t know what it was that was calling him there. Maybe it wasn’t the Iron Bank at all, as he didn’t think the Iron Bank smelled like cinnamon and home. Nevertheless, he was in no state of mind to ignore the call. 

Leo looked back to the kraken, wishing it could give him some sort of indication of the right thing to do instead of just staring at him.

Unfortunately, the sea monster had nothing to say.

Leo’s eyes lowered to one of the knives in the table. With some effort, he pulled it from the wood. His reflection rippled across the metal, and as he stared into his own eyes, a plan started to poke at the back of his brain. 

He smiled widely and dropped the knife, bolting from the throne room and towards the shipyard. 

It didn’t take him very long to find a coil of rope and hoist it over his shoulder. He was careful to walk in the path of everyone he noticed, hoping they would remember their new king lugging, with extreme difficulty, an armful of rope back to the castle. It was a long and painful walk. The Pyke palace had to be situated on top of the tallest island in the Iron Islands, and Leo dragged the rope up every single one of the towering steps. (“Palace” was a nice word. Leo’s ancestors had built the large yet shabby stronghold out of wood and plain gray stone.)

When he finally reached the throne room, he looked up. The rafters weren’t too high. If Leo placed one of the chairs on the table, he could tie the rope around the lowest one, given he stood on his toes and prayed to the Drowned God that he wouldn’t slip and end up enacting his clever plan for real. 

Leo threw the rope onto the table and got to work. Growing up a pirate had made him good with knots, and by the time he was finished, he had fashioned a loop the size of his neck and another connected one that would fit snugly around his torso like a harness. He snipped a few yards off the coil with his knife and wrapped the piece above the smaller loop, tucking the frayed end in until he had an extremely convincing fake noose. 

Now came the tricky part. 

Leo lifted one of the chairs on top of the table and carefully stepped on the seat. It shook slightly as he straightened and raised himself on his toes to tie the rope around the rafter, but he stayed on. After the rope was tied, Leo slipped into his makeshift harness so he could (hopefully) hang without suffocating himself. Finally, he looped the fake noose around his neck. It was painfully tight, and the rope scratched against his skin everytime he moved. But it was all the more convincing.

If Leo could fake his death successfully, his sister would take the crown. But even she would have to give him a proper burial. He’d be thrown in the sea, where he could swim all the way to the shore of Ironman’s Bay. It was a long way. A very long way. But Leo had been swimming since he could walk. If anyone could make it, it was the Salt King. 

He would travel to King’s Landing and then to Braavos, alone, where he would concoct another plan to rob the Iron Bank. Even with Amyra on the throne, if he returned to the Iron Islands with a ship full of gold, miraculously alive, he could reclaim his rightful seat in no time at all. 

And he would finally win _everything_. 

Leo took a deep breath and kicked the chair on from under him. 

He silently thanked the Drowned God that his harness worked and closed his eyes, keeping his breathing steady and light. It would be ideal if he could somehow fall asleep, but as soon as the rapping on the door started, he discovered that wouldn’t be possible.

“You Grace?” came Karron’s voice. “I heard a sound, your Grace, are you alright?”

Karron eventually grew tired of knocking and threw the door open. Leo’s hanging body had the effect he was going for. Karron screamed as loudly as he possibly could, and the sound of running footsteps followed shortly after. 

“Lady Greyjoy,” Leo heard Karron say. “Thank the Drowned God! I heard a noise and I saw his Grace hanging here…” 

“The damn coward,” Amyra hissed. 

Leo’s sister’s boots hit the floor loudly, and he listened carefully as she stepped onto the table with him. 

“Are you really that scared of me?” she shouted into Leo’s ear. It took everything he had not to flinch. “What a shame, I thought removing you from the throne was going to be fun.”

He heard the familiar shing of Amyra’s blade. Almost too late, he held his breath as the cold metal floated beneath his nose. The knife was so sharp it cut the skin above Leo’s lip and his own blood trickled into his mouth, leaving a metallic taste in his throat. 

“He really is dead.” Amyra jumped from the table. Leo let himself breath. “Let’s get him thrown into the ocean. I want that crown.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“My _Lady_?”

“Well,” Karron said nervously. “You aren’t the queen yet, Lady Greyjoy. You still must be nominated, and coronated…”

Leo fought a smile. Karron might have been a little pathetic, but he was loyal until the end. Amyra, however, was not so pleased with his loyalty. Leo heard her growl and surge forward, and Karron whimpered in reply to whatever she had done. 

“Don’t let me hear one more word from you, you twat. Now cut him down and get someone to carry him outside. I doubt you have the strength to do it yourself.”

Leo listened as Amyra’s knife slipped back into its sheath and her footsteps grew quieter as she exited. 

Karron joined Leo on the table and carefully extracted Leo’s knife from his sleeve. Leo was painfully aware of the pulse beating through the veins in his wrist, but Karron didn’t bother to check. Leo’s advisor cut him from the ceiling, and Leo fell onto the table, his head thunking against the wood, pain shooting through his skull. Leo gritted his teeth so hard he bit his tongue.

“Sorry, your Grace!” Karron squeaked. He slowly turned Leo’s body over so his face pointed at the ceiling. Karron straightened Leo’s legs and placed his hands on his chest, like Leo was lying on a pyre instead of a war map. Karron softly brushed Leo’s dark curls from his forehead. “Rest well, my King.”

Leo wanted to cry. Karron was much too good to him.

It wasn’t until he was certain that his advisor had left the room that he opened his eyes. Leo grabbed his knife, still lying on the table next to him, and sawed at his harness, throwing it onto the coil of extra rope. He arranged himself back in the position Karron had left him in and closed his eyes once more, just in time for the door to burst open. 

A pair of hands lifted his body and slung him over their shoulder. Leo could tell his sister was was walking next to the man carrying her because the air was full of the smell of salt and steel. 

“It’s about time you died,” came her cold voice from next to Leo’s left ear. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t make it last longer.”

Leo resisted the urge to punch her. 

The musty castle air gave way to a cold breeze, and the gray light of the afternoon seeped through Leo’s closed eyelids. 

“Bring him to Pyke Cliff,” Amyra commanded. “I’ll gather the others.”

Leo’s blood ran cold.

“Not to the beach, Lady Greyjoy?” asked the man holding Leo.

“He doesn’t deserve that.”

Leo could feel his heart start to beat frantically, which wasn’t a good thing. Pyke Cliff was the largest in the Iron Islands, and if Amyra dropped him off of Pyke Cliff, he was fairly certain that he would die. The water would be harder than stone from that height. He risked taking a shaky breath, trying to calm his nerves. For once, he was totally powerless. 

After being carried for a few more paces, Leo was dropped onto the soft grass, and a pair of hands slipped the noose from around his neck. He laid there for an indeterminable amount of time. It was hard to keep track when he was completely still, his eyes closed. He thought he could hear voices, but with his ear against the ground, all other sounds were muffled by the waves crashing against the rocky cliff below. 

The time passed slowly, Leo growing more panicked by the second as he struggled to think of what he could do to survive the drop. He could dive and cut through the waves, upping his chances of survival by a very thin margin, but at the same time risking the discovery of his plot. He could spring up right now and make a run for it, but he could never reclaim the throne if his people thought he was a coward afraid of his sister. And speaking of his sister, she would probably just chase him down and throw him off the cliff anyway. 

With a heavy heart, Leo realized there was nothing he could do but pray. 

The pair of hands returned and lifted Leo into their arms. He could hear his sister shouting into the wind.

“What is dead may never die!”

“What is dead may never die!” Leo’s people echoed. 

Leo hoped the old Iron Islands saying was true. He never gave it much thought, mostly because he could never understand it. What is dead, by definition, _could_ die, because it had already. Nobody could be brought back to life. Nothing could return once it was gone. 

And with that final thought, Leo was thrown over the cliff. 

The drop ended sooner than Leo had expected. One moment it was a high whistling in his ears and the wind against his face, bringing burning tears to his eyes and the next it was black. 

He hit the top of the waves with a loud slap, pain shooting up his body like ice. Or maybe that was the sea itself. The frigid cold gnawed at his skin and bones until he couldn’t feel any part of his body. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do now. Swim? Swim where? Everywhere, everything was water. There was nowhere to go.

He really was drowning this time. 

He could feel his body floating towards the surface, but he couldn’t will his head to turn and break through the waves. He just wanted it to end. 

But before it could, something grabbed at Leo’s ankle and tugged him down. 

Leo forgot about his imminent death long enough to make a noise of indignation as he was pulled further into the deep. His lungs were starting to constrict now, and the pressure was making his brain feel too large for his skull. 

The pulling stopped, and whatever was grabbing him moved from his ankle to the sides of his face. They felt like hands, human hands, warm hands. Leo’s vision cleared, and the little air he had left went into a gasp of shock. 

It was a _girl_ in the water with him, a lion’s mane of bright red hair floating behind her. She winked a pitch black eye at Leo and leaned forward, like she was going in for a kiss. But instead she pressed her forehead to Leo’s and closed her eyes.

And he burst into flames. 

Leo couldn’t even think about the amount of illogical things happening right now. But the fire seemed to be healing him. He could suddenly breathe, the pressure left his skull and his vision cleared. The flames weren’t burning him either. They were comfortably warm, like a fur coat. 

Leo could just make out the girl’s face through the inferno. She pointed forward into the water insistently. Leo nodded, understanding. That must’ve been the way he had to go. 

The girl smiled and waved goodbye, disappearing in a cloud of bubbles. 

Leo could feel a similar grin start to spread across his face. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why, but his plan was going to work. 

He kicked his feet and started for the direction that the girl had pointed, the safety of the flames wrapped around his body like a cloak.


End file.
